She rose, crossed the room, picked up her phone and punched in 9-1.
“Last chance.” When she looked up, Charley had left the room. Well, he couldn’t have gone far. She hadn’t heard the front door close. With a sigh, she punched the last 1.
When two uniformed police officers arrived fifteen minutes later, she still could not locate her almost-ex, almost-deceased husband. He must have somehow slipped out without making any noise. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“Come in,” she invited. “The box where the missing gun was stored is in the bedroom.”
The tall, lanky officer stepped into her living room and pulled a small notepad from his pocket while the other man studied her front door frame.
“Are you Amanda Randolph?”
“I am.”
“You called 911?”
“I did.”
“Can you tell us what happened, Ms. Randolph?”
“Someone broke in while I was gone and stole my gun,” she said.
“No sign of forced entry.” The second officer looked up from the door frame.
“It was unlocked,” Amanda said.
“You left the door unlocked?”
“No, of course not.” She glanced at the man’s name badge. “Officer Penske, I’ve been away from home. In the hospital. When I came home this evening, the door was unlocked.”
“Who has a key to your apartment?” the tall policeman asked. His badge identified him as Officer Mark Robbins.
“My assistant in the shop downstairs. That’s the only person besides me. I changed my lock recently.”
Robbins made a note. “Your assistant. What’s his name?”
“Dawson Page.”
“Do you have an address for this Dawson Page?”
“Yes. Why? I’m sure he didn’t mean to leave my door unlocked. He’s usually very conscientious.”
“He left the door unlocked?”
“No. I don’t know. Maybe. But I don’t think so since my gun’s missing.”
“Did he know you owned this gun?”
“No! Are you implying Dawson would steal from me? No way! The thief’s name was Kimball.”
Both officers looked at her. “You know the thief’s name?” Penske asked.
“My ex-husband...well, he’s not my ex yet, but he will be. He’s the one who told me someone named Kimball stole my gun.”
“Is that the same ex-husband who was shot and killed?”
Amanda whirled to see Jake Daggett standing in the open doorway. His hair was still a mess and he still needed a shave. Tonight he wore faded blue jeans and a Pink Floyd T-shirt and looked even less professional than he had at her interrogation.
“What are you doing here? I thought you were a homicide detective.”
“You’re a homicide suspect.”
“At the moment, I’m the victim of a burglary.”
“In which a suspected murder weapon was purportedly stolen.”
Charley’s words came back to her. He killed a woman with the gun he thought I had, the one he thinks he stole from you. “How do you know that?”
“You told the dispatcher when you called 911.”
“Oh! You mean my gun. The one you think I used to kill Charley. Except he isn’t dead, so that pretty much shoots down your theory.”
“Hey, Jake,” Officer Robbins said. “You got this case?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Ongoing murder investigation.”
Robbins nodded. “No sign of forced entry. Ms. Randolph claims the only person besides her with a key is her assistant—” he consulted his notes— “Dawson Page. We don’t have an address yet.”
“Thanks. I’ll take it from here.”
The two officers left, closing the door behind them.
Jake crossed his arms over his chest. “So,” he said, “your husband’s not dead.”
“My estranged husband is very much alive.”
Daggett raised one eyebrow. “Would this be the same estranged husband whose dead body we found in his apartment?”
“I don’t know whose body that is, but it’s not Charley’s. He was just here, alive.”
Daggett stared at her in silence for a long moment, searching her face as if trying to determine whether she was lying or just nuts. “Charley’s fingerprints are in AFIS. We matched his prints to the dead man’s prints.”
She crossed her arms, mirroring his obstinate stance. “Maybe, maybe not. You don’t know Charley very well if you seriously think he couldn’t have somehow switched fingerprints in your system.”
Daggett lifted both eyebrows this time. “Yeah, I seriously think Charley could not have switched fingerprints in our system. Trust me on this one. But even if you think he could have, Charley Randolph’s mother identified his body.”
“Some woman suddenly appears and claims to be his mother, and you believe her. Charley told me his parents are dead. Maybe they are. Maybe this woman isn’t really his mother but somebody who has a hidden agenda. Maybe...” A sudden idea stopped Amanda in mid-sentence.
“Maybe?” Daggett encouraged.
Amanda swallowed. “Maybe my estranged husband’s not Charley Randolph. Maybe he changed his name, stole someone’s identity, the identity of that man who was killed in his apartment, the real Charley Randolph.” Maybe this was worse than not knowing she had a houseful of in-laws. Maybe she didn’t even know who she was married to.
Daggett dropped his arms to his sides, his dark eyes losing some of their sharpness. “Your father also identified the dead man as your husband, known to him as Charley Randolph. Your husband is dead.”
Ice trickled down Amanda’s spine. Her father would not, could not mistakenly identify Charley. He had kept Charley’s family a secret from her. He hadn’t told her everything. He had deceived her, but he hadn’t lied.
She moved across the room and sank onto her brightly-patterned sofa.
Charley was dead?
Charley was dead.
Charley had not just been in her apartment.
But she’d seen him, talked to him.
No, she hadn’t.
She’d been hallucinating.
Just like after her accident.
That explained the tricks and how he suddenly disappeared. He hadn’t been there in the first place. She needed to get a grip. Hallucinating Charley was not a good thing.
“Mrs. Randolph? Are you all right?” A soft, pitying tone.
Amanda straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin. “I’m fine. Do you want to see the box where I stored my gun? Dust for fingerprints? Check for DNA?”
“What did you mean when you said Charley told you someone named Kimball stole your gun?”
She clenched her hands between her knees, focused her gaze across the room, and prepared to lie. “Oh, that.” She cleared her throat. “Well. It was a dream. While I was in the hospital and they were giving me drugs. I dreamed about Charley.” She stood. “Let me show you where the gun used to be.”
“You dreamed about Charley, and he told you a man named Kimball had stolen your gun? Why didn’t you tell me that during our interview down at the station?”
“I didn’t remember until I got home and found the gun missing. What difference does it make? It was just a dream. You think it was maybe a psychic vision, somebody named Kimball actually did steal my gun? I suppose that’s possible.”
“Kimball—last name or first?”
“I don’t know. Psychic visions. They can be so vague.” She started toward the bedroom.
“You know anybody by that name?”
“Nope. Right over there. That box. The gun was wrapped in that striped towel last time I saw it.”
Daggett surveyed the mess. “Is this the way you found your room? Have you touched anything?”
“Of course I touched things. Lots of things. The boxes were all in the closet, and this stuff was in that box. I pulled it out trying to find that blasted gun so I could bring it to you.”
He looked at her, his l
eft eyebrow shooting upward again. “So there was no evidence of a break-in when you got home?”
“The unlocked door.”
“Other than that.”
“My blinds were all closed.”
“You don’t normally close your blinds?”
“Not the blinds in the living room or kitchen. I hate being closed in. Claustrophobia.”
The detective looked skeptical.
“And the boxes were in a different order than I left them,” she continued.
“The boxes?”
She gestured toward the closet. “Those boxes. Someone took them out to get to my gun and didn’t put them back the right way.”
He nodded, his expression unchanged. He thought she was nuts. “When did you last see this gun?”
“A few weeks after Charley gave it to me. I packed it away.” Probably not a good idea to tell him the reason she’d hidden it away was so she wouldn’t be tempted to shoot Charley with it.
“And that would be…when?”
“A couple of years ago.”
“And you haven’t seen it since that time?”
“No.”
“So you don’t really know when it went missing.”
“Yes, I do. I told you. The door was unlocked, the blinds were closed, the boxes were rearranged. Somebody was here while I was gone.”
Daggett nodded, withdrew a pen and paper and wrote something. She could tell he didn’t believe her.
At this point, she wasn’t sure she believed herself.
“First of the evening?” Daggett indicated the half-empty glass of wine sitting on the dresser. “Second? Third?”
She sighed. “First.” But it wouldn’t be the last.
She couldn’t really blame him for doubting her word when she’d been blithering about messages from her dead ex-husband.
After he left, she locked the door behind him, returned to the bedroom and retrieved her glass of wine. It was room temperature now, but she didn’t care. She sank into the rocking chair, stared at the wall where she’d seen Charley, then took a big gulp.
“Kimball tried to kill you because he thinks I told you about him. He’s going to try again. You’re in danger. You need my help.”
Charley. No more wine for her.
Chapter Seven
She refused to look at him. “Go away. You’re dead.”
“Yeah, I am. But that’s beside the point. Or maybe that is the point. I don’t know. Believe me, I’m as confused as you are, but I think I’m here to save your life.”
“I am not hearing voices. I am not hallucinating.”
“That’s true. You’re not.”
Amanda put her fingers in her ears.
Charley suddenly appeared, grinning, sitting cross-legged on the floor in her line of sight. “Hi.”
Amanda shot out of the chair. “I need more wine.” She sank back down. “Or less wine.”
“Hey, I’m not thrilled about this either, but I’m stuck with it. That white light everybody sees when they die? It got yanked away from me before I could reach it, and next thing I know, I’m watching you go tumbling down that mountain. I took care of you, didn’t I, got you back to the highway, saved your life? I thought maybe that would be it and I’d get to move on, but I’m still here. At least you can see me now. When I talked to you at your mother’s house, you acted like you didn’t hear me. Your mother never did like me.”
“With good reason. Go away.”
“I can’t. I tried. I can go inside the dark like I did just now when those cops came, but other than that, I’m stuck with you.”
Amanda rose, deliberately averting her eyes from the illusion of Charley. “I’m going to bed now, and when I wake up in the morning, I’m going to be completely normal again, no Charley, no little green men.”
“You need to cut back on the wine, Amanda. There aren’t any little green men here, just me. And I’ll probably still be here when you wake up.”
Amanda crossed the room and yanked open the bottom drawer of her dresser. She took out a nightshirt, clutched it to her chest, and turned around.
Charley’s grin widened. “Go ahead. Change clothes. If I’m not really here, getting naked in front of me won’t bother you.”
Amanda hesitated, then, determined not to give in to her own delusions, laid the nightshirt on her bed and lifted the bottom of her T-shirt.
Charley whistled and clapped. “Take it off! Take it all off!”
Amanda spun around, turning her back to him. Charley’s grinning image reflected in the beveled mirror of her antique dresser. Did hallucinations reflect in mirrors? Vampires didn’t, but she wasn’t sure about the protocol for hallucinations.
“Gotcha!” Charley exclaimed triumphantly. “If you didn’t believe I’m here, you wouldn’t be embarrassed to undress.”
“I don’t believe you’re here. I believe I’m losing my mind, but I’m not going to undress in front of you anyway.”
“Like I’ve never seen you—”
Amanda whirled on him. “That’s enough! We’re getting a divorce. You do not have the right to talk to me that way.” She lifted her hand to her mouth. “I’m talking to my hallucination again.”
“It’s a start. Sit down. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”
Amanda shook her head but followed his directions and sat in the rocking chair. “If I listen to you, will you go away?”
“Maybe.” He sighed. “To tell you the truth—and I’m afraid that’s all I can do anymore—I’m not sure. This death thing, I don’t have any experience with it. I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do.”
“So you’re dead. You’re a ghost.”
Charley flinched. “You don’t have to be rude.”
“You’re dead, but you’re not a ghost?” If he was her hallucination, shouldn’t he be more agreeable?
“Ghost just sounds so…hazy and insubstantial.”
“Fine, you’re dead, but you’re not a ghost.”
“I’m still Charley. I just don’t have a body. At least, not the same kind of body I used to have. I’m not very solid anymore.”
Like a ghost, she thought. But arguing with Charley had always been pointless. His hallucination wasn’t likely to be any more open to logic.
“Whatever. It’s late. I’m tired. What is it you want to talk about?”
“I guess we have to start with Kimball and that gun.”
“Can you sit down? I don’t feel comfortable having a conversation with someone who’s standing while I’m sitting.” Standing and hovering a few inches off the floor.
“Sure.” He perched on the side of the bed—about an inch above the colorful spread.
Amanda motioned with her hand, indicating he should lower himself a little more.
“Huh?”
“You’re floating. That doesn’t make me feel comfortable.”
Charley lowered half an inch into the bed.
“Up,” Amanda instructed, and he rose. “That’s good. You look like you’re actually sitting.”
Charley gave her a satisfied smile. “I’m getting better at this no body thing.”
“Okay. Talk, then go away.”
Charley drew in a deep breath. “Roland Kimball. Mayor of Silver Creek. Future Governor of Texas, if he and his family and his wife’s family have anything to say about it, and, as much money as they’ve got, they probably do.”
“The mayor of your home town, a rich man who could buy all the guns he wants, stole my gun. Do I have this right so far?”
“Sort of.” Charley grimaced. “There’s a little more to the story.”
“Of course there is.” There always was with Charley.
“Kimball thought I had the gun he used to kill his former girlfriend, and he wanted to get it back. But I didn’t have it. But he didn’t believe me. So he killed me, tried to kill you, searched my apartment, picked your lock, found your gun and thought it was his. He’s going to try again because he thinks you know about him. Thos
e anonymous calls Dawson told you about were him, calling here, trying to find you. He might have figured out the gun he took isn’t his. If that happens, he’s going to be really upset.”
Perhaps this was Charley’s ghost after all. Only Charley could tell such a nonsensical tale and sit there looking as if he’d just explained everything. “So this Kimball person killed you, tried to kill me, and the anonymous phone calls were from him, checking on my whereabouts so he can make another attempt?”
“Yeah. I didn’t see him making those calls, and I didn’t see him stealing your gun, but I know it happened like that. Now that I’m on the other side, I know things,” he said smugly.
“Funny. You claimed to know everything when you were on this side.”
“I might have been bragging then, but I’m telling the truth now.”
“Got it. Kimball killed you, and now he wants to kill me. Why did he think you had the gun he used to kill his former girlfriend?”
“Because I told him I had it.”
“Why did you tell him you had his gun?”
Charley lowered his head and mumbled.
“What?” she asked.
“Blackmail.”
“Blackmail?” Amanda leaned forward. “You were blackmailing this Roland Kimball?”
“Yes.”
“You told him you had his murder weapon?”
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t really have it?”
“That’s right.”
Amanda shook her head slowly. “I can’t have a coherent conversation with you even after you’re dead.” And that statement itself was the ultimate in incoherence.
“I only did it to him twice.”
Amanda’s eyes widened. “Twice? You blackmailed him more than once?”
“Well, only once successfully. The second time I asked him for money...” He grinned and spread his hands. “He killed me.”
Amanda massaged her temples, fighting the beginnings of a headache. “But this man once paid you money for a gun you didn’t have? Why would he do that?”
Charley’s grin turned cocky. “Because I’m damned good at what I do.”
“You’re dead. That isn’t exactly a testimonial to your skills as a blackmailer.”
The Ex Who Wouldn't Die (Charley's Ghost Book 1) Page 6